


come on down to florida (i got somethin for ya)

by scribespirare



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: (but its only the miamis sorry), Anal Sex, Car Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Drugs, First Time, Incest, Jealousy, M/M, Morty's age isn't specified but he is referred to as a teenager, PWP, Selfcest, Shotgunning, Smoking, So take that as you will, Top Rick, nicknames galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:41:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22102741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribespirare/pseuds/scribespirare
Summary: A routine drug deal takes a turn when Morty is introduced to the C-69's.
Relationships: Miami Morty (Pocket Mortys)/Morty Smith, Miami Morty/Miami Rick (Pocket Mortys), Miami Rick (Pocket Mortys)/Morty Smith, Rick Sanchez/Morty Smith
Comments: 18
Kudos: 204





	come on down to florida (i got somethin for ya)

**Author's Note:**

> hellooooo this is my first rickorty fic (that im publishing anyways) and idk if im gonna write more but like. hopefully i will? i love the ship a lot uwu 
> 
> also, i made a Miami Morty playlist! you can listen to it on spotify [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6Cu9XUmgBjw4dcWulZR7Ve)

“You’re going to regret this.”

Really, Morty probably should have listened to his grandfather’s warning. Rick _is_ a genius and everything after all. But it’s midterms time at school and that combined with no adventures lately had Morty feeling more than a little stir-crazy.

So when Rick had declared there was a pickup he needed to make, Morty had invited himself along.

Rick had warned him right off the bat, then furthered it by explicitly telling Morty he was going to buy drugs. Morty had shrugged and tagged along anyways. It’s not like he hasn’t seen his grandfather conduct shady business before.

Now he’s standing in the seedy back office of some nightclub and seriously rethinking his decision. Heavy bass thumps through the thin walls, vibrating the floor ever so slightly. The lights are dim and have a purplish hue, and rather than a desk, the majority of the office is taken up by a huge U-shaped couch. It’s black and leather and looks expensive but also like he wouldn’t want to shine a black light on it. There is actually a desk present too, but its shoved into the far corner and absolutely covered in stacks of paper. The coffee table in the U of the couch is similarly crowded, but with drug paraphernalia, most of which Morty recognizes from his time spent with Rick.

Morty hovers anxiously near the couch, not really wanting to sit on it. Rick, on the other hand, is perched on the edge of one cushion, shifting through the contents of the coffee table.

“S-so who is it we’re here to see again?” Morty asks, fidgeting nervously.

Rick doesn’t even glance up from the bong he’s inspecting. At least Morty thinks it’s a bong, or maybe an alien version of one. “You’ll see.”

Great. He loves when Rick is cryptic. Not.

Before Morty can work himself up any more the door swings open, a loud voice cutting through bass heavy club music. “-never let me have any fun, daddy!”

The person who steps inside is eerily familiar, glancing back over his shoulder at someone else before he turns and catches sight of Rick and Morty. His pouty lips open in a perfect O of surprise and he comes to a halt. Bleached blonde hair, the roots dark and natural, curls over his shoulder and down his chest. Errant curls are stuck to his skin with sweat and what looks like an ungodly amount of body glitter. He’s heavily made up, eyeliner wings so sharp they look like they can cut and tan so fake it’s a wonder it’s not being sweat off.

The most striking thing, beyond the heels dangling from manicured fingers, leather booty shorts with thong straps visible, and crop top, is the fact that he’s very clearly a _Morty_.

“Oh!” he says.

Another Rick follows him into the room and closes the door behind himself, looking entirely unimpressed. “Yeah. That’s why.” This Rick…well, he looks like he owns a seedy strip club and maybe snorts coke off of hookers’ asses in his free time. Seriously, who wears sunglasses indoors? Especially ones tinted pale blue. His coat is pastel and pink, pants too tight for Morty’s comfort, and his button down open halfway down his chest. The whole ensemble leaves Morty feeling a little weak in his knees, mouth going dry.

“C-69,” Rick says, standing from the couch. He sounds about as friendly as he usually does with other Ricks, which is to say not very.

“C-137,” the other Rick replies, but his gaze never leaves Morty. “I didn’t realize you were going to be bringing your Morty.”

“Trust me, I tried to leave him at home. Dumbass.” The last part is clearly directed at Morty and he shrinks a little, still fidgeting nervously with his hands.

“No need to be nervous,” the strange Rick says. “You can call me Miami, by the way. I find it helps keep the narrative straight if alternates have nicknames.” As he moves past Morty he reaches out and ruffles his hair, the touch surprisingly soft and affectionate. Certainly something Morty’s Rick would never do. It makes his stomach flutter, certain _feelings_ he’s been trying to ignore starting to stir.

The other Rick, Miami, collapses back on the couch, sprawled casually. Morty is so busy watching him that he doesn’t notice the other Morty sneak up on him until one lean arm is wrapping around his shoulders.

“Hey, babe,” the other Morty says, leaning in close. Up close he smells citrusy and bright with a touch of sweat, and his body heat is high. He’s also got at least half a foot on Morty which just isn’t _fair_. Morty has to tip his head back to look at him.

“Uh,” he says intelligently.

“Aren’t you just the cutest,” the other Morty coos, pinching Morty’s cheek and making him wince. “Isn’t he cute, daddy?”

_Daddy!?_ Now that Morty thinks about it, this strange Morty called Miami that once already, he just hadn’t caught it.

“Adorable,” Miami agrees in a drawl. “You-you know the rules though, sweetheart. Business first.”

_Sweetheart_. Seriously, what the fuck is going on here? Morty feels a little faint at the implications.

The other Morty pouts but obediently trots over to the couch, depositing his heels on the floor before curling up against Miami’s side, feet on the cushion and one hand on Miami’s thigh.

“Classy as always,” Rick says, retaking his seat on the edge of the couch. “Can we talk drugs now or do you want to ogle my grandson some more?”

Morty splutters, flushing, and Rick rolls his eyes at him. “Come- get over here Morty, you’re making me feel awkward just standing there like that.”

“Yes, please make yourself at home,” Miami says, gesturing lazily at the couch. Specifically the empty spot to his right. Morty chooses instead to perch next to his own Rick, close enough that he feels safe but definitely not touching.

He and his Rick definitely aren’t like that.

As much as Morty wishes they were.

The next thirty minutes are a series of negotiations that Morty can’t really follow. He’s too distracted by the casual arm Miami has thrown around the other Morty’s shoulders. The other Morty, who Morty has taken to calling Sweetheart in his mind, is trailing his fingers lazily up and down Miami’s thigh. His nails are a bright pink with little cherry prints on the middle fingers, and at least half an inch long. They mostly stay in PG territory but a few times Morty catches them drifting a little too high , tracing briefly over Miami’s zipper before retreating again.

It’s mesmerizing is what it is. At one point Morty flicks his gaze up only to find Sweetheart watching him right back, smirking. Sweetheart winks at him and then leans up to whisper something in Miami’s ear. Miami pauses in what he’s saying, listening, before his gaze cuts down to Morty too. His smirk makes Morty’s heart skip a beat. Then he’s right back to negotiations like nothing ever happened.

It’s only when Morty hears his name that he snaps back to the discussion at hand.

“A-and just what are you planning on doing to him?” Rick asks, looking and sounding completely unimpressed.

Morty looks up at him, confused, then back to Miami when he answers with a smooth, “Nothing he doesn’t want to do.”

“W-what?” Morty asks.

“Try to-try to keep up, Morty, geeze. C-69 over here, who, by the way, has a _really_ apt designation and if he wasn’t such a skeevey, Morty obsessed bastard I’d be jealous, is willing to g-give me a discount on the goods.”

“That sounds good?” Morty tries.

“ _If_ he gets you for an hour.”

“Oh,” Morty says, glancing back at Miami and Sweetheart. The later is still wearing the same knowing smirk. “Um. W-what does that mean, exactly?”

“That we’d spend some quality time together,” Sweetheart says.

That doesn’t sound so bad, but something tells Morty that _quality time_ is not nearly as innocent as it sounds. But didn’t Miami also just say he wouldn’t do anything Morty didn’t want?

“How about this,” Miami speaks up, pulling his arm from around Sweetheart so that he can lean forward with his elbows on his knees. His glasses slide down his nose, making the bright blue eyes behind visible for the first time tonight. “I’ll also give the two of you some free samples. And C-137, you can even stay and watch. _If_ you’re silent and mind your manners, of course.”

This definitely sounds like Morty is about to be pimped out. But…does he really mind? He’s not so sure he does. Hasn’t he been fantasizing about Rick for…well, _ever_ now? And it’s not like he’s ever going to get anywhere on that front, so why not take up a different Rick on his DTF invitation? Sweetheart definitely looks like he wants in on it too, and Morty’s already fucked around with an alternate version of himself so he knows it’s a good time.

“I-I don’t know about you, but it doesn’t sound too bad to me,” Morty says nervously, glancing up at Rick. Rick stares back down at him, expression hard and unreadable.

“You sure, M-morty?”

He gives a little nod, heart fluttering somewhere near his throat. He’s not sure exactly what’s about to happen or if he’s even right about Miami’s intentions, but regardless it’ll be fun, right? Either he gets fucked, or he gets to hang out and do drugs with _two_ versions of his grandfather.

Win win!

Rick sighs deeply and flops back into the couch in much the same way Miami had. “Alright, what-whatever. It’s your life, I guess.”

“Excellent,” Miami purrs. “Sweetheart?”

The other Morty uncurls himself from his spot, bright fingernails clicking audibly against glass as he shuffles through several contraptions on the coffee table. He eventually picks up a small pipe that he tosses to Rick, and a bong that he passes to Miami.

Rick holds up the pipe, looking at it through the tinted light like the paranoid bastard he is. But it must pass muster because he shrugs and doesn’t say anything about it. That is, until Sweetheart snatches up a small plastic baggie and saunters around the couch to plop himself straight into Rick’s lap. Rick jerks up in his seat, surprised expression quickly morphing into irritation. “Ex-fucking-scuse you,” he snaps, already moving to push Sweetheart away. But Sweetheart just wraps one slender arm around Rick’s neck and daintily takes the pipe from him with his other hand.

Morty watches it all with a slight twist in his stomach. Sure, he’s probably going to get to sleep with Sweetheart’s Rick, but C-137 is still _Morty’s_. Sort of. He wishes.

A low whistle catches his attention and Morty jerks, turning to look at Miami. His...alternate grandfather? Yeah, his alternate grandfather quirks his brow, then pats the couch beside himself again. Morty glances between him and Rick who’s lap is still full of Sweetheart, methodically packing the bowl on the pipe. Making a quick decision, Morty goes to sit next to Miami, a little anxious about how close or far he should be, or if he should just go for it like Sweetheart did. He ends up a couple of inches away, enough space that they’re not touching, but he can feel the heat of Miami’s body.

“Th-this is a special strain I grow myself,” Miami says, leaning close and offering the bong to Morty. “I call it Inhibition.”

Morty’s brow creases as he carefully takes the glass contraption. “Inhibition? Isn’t that- doesn’t that word mean like, having restrictions and stuff?”

“Yup,” Miami replies with a smile. “And you’re going to smoke all of them away.” This is said with a smirk as he pulls a lighter from his pocket and passes it to Morty. “You ever use one of these before, baby?”

_Baby._ The word rocks through Morty like a punch. His gut immediately warms, lust stirring just behind his bellybutton. It makes his mouth go so dry that he can’t even respond, just shake his head mutely.

Miami smiles knowingly and gently takes the bong and lighter back from him. “That’s- it’s okay.” Raising his voice a little, he turns, “Hey, Sweetheart.”

Morty glances over at the other pair, surprised to see Rick slouched back against the couch again, the pipe resting against his thigh in one hand, and his other hand on Sweetheart’s leather-clad ass. He’s definitely had a few hits, eyes slightly hooded as he gazes up at the other Morty. Sweetheart, in turn, is straddling Rick’s thighs. But he looks over at Morty and Miami, lips pursed slightly, before he rolls his eyes and moves away from Rick.

Morty isn’t expecting the way Sweetheart slides into _his_ lap instead. With Morty being the shorter of the two (which he’s still salty about), Sweetheart sits a good head above him, looking down as one arm goes around Morty’s shoulders. “What’s up, doll?”

A warm hand finds the small of Morty’s back and he twitches, Miami’s voice suddenly coming from much closer than it had been before. “Will you shotgun him, baby? He’s never smoked before.”

Sweetheart’s entire face lights up. “Oooh, of course, daddy!”

Morty licks his lips anxiously, breath coming much faster now. They’re both so close to him, and he’s not sure what to do about it. His hands flutter nervously for a moment before he settles one on the couch and the other awkwardly on Sweetheart’s leg. Sweetheart just smiles down at him, all plush lips and sparkling eyes. He really is beautiful, and Morty can’t help but wonder if he’d look much the same if he did his own makeup.

Not that he’d ever try though.

….Unless Rick likes it. Which he might, considering the hand he’d had on Sweetheart’s ass earlier.

Morty doesn’t realize he’s completely spaced out until he feels the press of fingers and acrylic nails on his chin, tilting his face up. He blinks, taking in Sweetheart’s features again as he leans in and gently presses his lips to Morty’s, making Morty’s brain short circuit. Sweetheart’s mouth, sticky with lipstick, moves gently, prying Morty’s lips open.

Morty almost chokes when he feels the curl of smoke into his mouth, bitter on his tongue and burning against the back of his throat. He tries to pull away, to cough, to ask what the _fuck,_ but a long fingered hand on the back of his neck keeps him firmly in place. He whines, eyes starting to water, and just when he thinks it’s over because Sweetheart is moving away, Miami is turning Morty’s face and pressing in with another smoke filled kiss.

“H-hey!” Rick’s voice cuts across the room and the trio separate, Morty immediately coughing and breathing hard. “What happened- what ever happened to not doing anything he doesn’t want?”

The hand on the back of Morty’s neck slides up into his hair, gripping gently, almost petting, and Morty can’t help but relax into the loose hold. It feels so nice, and he feels so…good. His breath is rasping gently, throat still sore from the smoke, and his mouth tastes bad. But Miami is holding him steady and Sweetheart’s weight on his lap is starting to get him a little hard, so it’s not like he can complain.

“Aw, he’s fine,” he hears Miami say. “Just- just fucking l-look at him. You liked that, right, baby?”

It takes Morty a second to realize that the question was directed at him, and even then he’s not sure how to answer it. In the end it’s the _baby_ that makes him nod and hum affirmatively. “I-I’m fine, grandpa.”

Rick mutters something too low for Morty to catch but sounds a lot like, “you’ve got forty-nine minutes left, asshole.”

Sweetheart cups Morty’s face in his palms. “Do you want another hit, babe?”

Another? No, he’d probably pass out if he did, so he shakes his head no. When did his hands get on Sweetheart’s hips? He flexes them, amazed by how _soft_ Sweetheart feels, despite having the same bony, lanky frame as Morty. Is this why Rick was touching him? Should Morty eat more so he’ll fatten up and Rick will want to touch him?

The hand on the small of his back, which he’d forgotten about, moves around to his side and suddenly tugs Morty over until both he and Sweetheart are pressed up against Miami. Sweetheart sways with the movement, giggling before he leans in and kisses Miami right on the mouth. Their faces are so close to his own that Morty can hear the faint, slick sound of their lips meeting. He can’t help but stare. Jealously. Not for Miami no, though Morty has already established that he won’t turn Miami down, but jealous instead of their relationship. That despite the age difference and the incest and the legality, they’re obviously together when Rick and Morty aren’t. It just isn’t fair.

Before Morty can crawl across the couch to his actual grandfather, the two separate with a wet noise and a small moan from Sweetheart. Almost immediately Sweetheart is turning and kissing Morty the same exact way he’d kissed Miami. It’s not Morty’s first kiss. It’s not even the first time he’s kissed an alternate version of himself. He melts into it, enjoying the the hand cupping his face and Miami’s much larger hand teasing up underneath his shirt, rubbing small circles against his skin.

Breath against the sensitive skin of his neck and ear is the only warning he gets before Miami’s voice, low and hot, is right there. “Y-you two look so good right now, baby.”

Morty shivers in response, a small whine catching in the back of his throat as Sweetheart’s tongue sweeps languidly into his mouth. He can practically hear the smile in Miami’s voice. “Oh, you like that? Like when I call you baby?”

The hand on Morty’s stomach creeps further and further up his chest, until long, aged fingers are rubbing gently at his nipple and sending shivers up his spine. “O-of course you do. See, I’ve learned something- a little something over my years dealing to alternates. _All Mortys are sluts._ ” Miami pinches his nipple harshly and Morty gasps, breaking the kiss and arching his spine into the sensation.

Sweetheart laughs lowly, kissing Morty’s cheek first, then his chin, throat, collarbone.

“All it takes is a few words,” Miami continues -and when did his other hand find it’s way to Morty’s thigh?- “and every Morty is hard within- in under a minute. Or wet. I-I don’t discriminate.” The drifting hand cups Morty through his jeans, making him moan shakily as Sweetheart continues to suck hickies into his throat.

“Alright.” The word is loud and harsh and cuts straight through the arousal and weed induced buzz in Morty’s mind. He blinks his eyes open blearily to find Rick standing in front of the tangle of limbs and hormones that is the trio. “I’ve had eno- I can’t take any more of this. We’re leaving, Morty.”

“What-” Morty says, then yelps when Rick grabs his wrist and tries to yank him up.

But Miami’s arm winds around Morty’s waist and Sweetheart’s weight in his lap keeps him rooted to the spot. “Not so fast,” Miami says, sounding a lot less friendly than he did two seconds ago. “We had a deal, C-137. You back out now and I’m never- I-I’ll never deal to you again.”

Rick sneers and yanks harder at Morty’s arm, pulling him out from under Sweetheart and causing the teen to stumble into Rick’s chest. “So fuckin’ be it. I’ve smoked better weed grown by Fraxpodeians anyways.”

A portal snaps open directly underneath them and they drop through it faster than Miami can curse and try to stand. They land in the front seats of the cruiser, Morty feeling like his head is spinning, like he can’t keep up with the situation. He grips it with both hands, slumping back into his seat. “What-what the hell, Rick? I said it was fine!”

“Maybe I don’t like seeing my _grandson_ behaving like a _slut_ ,” Rick snaps in response, jamming the keys into the ignition aggressively and starting the car. The words hit hard, shame and dread curling in Morty’s stomach. But hearing Rick call him a slut not even a minute after Miami said the same exact thing in a much _much_ more sexual context has his dick twitching regardless.

Morty slinks down in his seat, caught somewhere between being completely and totally pissed, horribly aroused, and mortified.

“I’m just saying, M-morty,” Rick continues, guiding the ship up off the ground and into the sky, “you were awful quick to jump on that offer. What, you into coked out old men now? Or maybe it was- maybe it was the little femmeboy version of you? I knew you’d stick your dick in anything but geeze, Morty, in-incest and selfcest seem a little much for someone as vanilla as you.”

They hit the upper atmosphere, the ship rocking with turbulence for a moment before they pop through on the other side, nothing but empty space stretching out for light years.

Morty curls up on himself, angry and embarrassed and not sure how to respond. “Where are we?” he asks instead, sounding petulant but tired to his own ears. They’d portaled to the C-69 dimension, not driven. As far as he knows the car had been in the garage but that definitely wasn’t earth’s atmosphere they’d just left.

“T-the car was running errands for me,” Rick snaps, “and don’t change the subject!”

“M-maybe I don’t want to talk to my grandfather about my sex life!” Morty snaps back. Or what was _almost_ his sex life anyways.

“I think the fact that you tried to fuck an alternate version of me puts us a little bit past that here, Morty!”

Their voices have risen continuously so when Morty responds with, “It’s none of your fucking business!” it’s almost a yell, his voice echoing back to him off the windows. Silence descends awkwardly over them, Rick staring straight ahead and Morty slumping even further into his seat. His high no longer feels nice and floaty, just disorienting. He wants to be home already, wants to curl up in his bed and get a decent amount of sleep for once so that he can forget about all of this come morning.

For several minutes neither of them says anything, stars and the dark of space whizzing by at a speed that used to leave Morty in awe, but is now just par for the course. He doesn’t understand why Rick didn’t portal them home and let the cruiser come back by itself. Why are they in the middle of fucking nowhere?

“So,” Rick says, pulling Morty from his thoughts. His voice is tight and thin and when Morty glances over he can see a faint strain around Rick’s fingers on the wheel. “You gonna fess up or what?”

“What?” Morty asks. He’s got his knees pulled up into the seat with him and he turns to rest his cheek against them so that he can stare at Rick. The position helps steady him a little, grounds him when there’s no actual ground for light years. “Wha-what are you even talk-talking about, Rick?”

“You, fessing up,” Rick repeats, glancing at him. Not like there’s even a road for him to keep his eyes on.

“To what?”

Rick groans, throwing his head back like Morty is physically paining him with his stupidity. Isn’t he supposed to be high too? But then again he’s probably got lungs of steel and a resistance Morty could never dream of. “So-so you’re really just going to sit there like you’re not super into me? I tried to fuck you and you almost _let me_ , Morty. That’s like…super fucked. Granted, incest is only taboo in like fifty five percent of the galaxy and shit, which let me tell you, greatly decreases the appeal and value of incest porn, but that’s-that’s beside the point here. The point _is_ either you’re into your own grandpa, or you have a massive silver fox kink, probably made worse by your unbearable levels of teenage horniness.”

“Wha-, _you_ didn’t try to fuck me!” Morty protests, zeroing in on the only important part of that rant. He jerks up in his seat and subsequently his head spins because of it. Groaning, he puts a hand to his temple, trying to will the dizziness away even as he continues to stutter. “I-I-It was Miami, he-it doesn’t count!”

“ _Miami,”_ Rick spits the name out like it tastes disgusting, mouth curling into a sneer. “Don’t you mean _daddy_?”

Morty can feel himself flush, mouth flapping silently for a second. “I didn’t call him that!”

“No, but you were seconds away from it,” Rick accuses. “Probably would have crawled right into his lap too.”

“Are-are you calling me a slut!?” Morty asks shrilly, stupidly, considering Rick did in fact call him that just a few minutes ago.

“Yes!” is Rick’s slightly feral sounding response. His eyes are wide and he spreads his arms as he starts to gesticulate, hands moving faster the longer he goes. “I-I-I fucking knew what would happen if we went, because C-69 makes a pass at _every single_ Morty, even the nonhuman ones, but I never expected for you to- to fucking respond to it! You were supposed to get uncomfortable and ask to go home, not crawl into his goddamn lap and try to suck his dick!”

“I didn’t-” Morty ties to interject, but Rick just plows right over him.

“And-and what was that shit with the other Morty, huh? You just let him slobber all over you while C-69 pawed at you like a dog in heat. You into dogs, Morty? Just gonna let them pant all over you and-and-and hump your fucking leg? You into that weird shit? Goddamn, Morty, the little stripper version of you even left your neck black and fucking blue. Is that what you want to be, Morty? Wanna run a-around in leather booty shorts in a thong and call your own grandfather daddy in front of other people?”

It dawns on Morty, slowly but surely, that Rick is throwing a temper tantrum because he’s _jealous_. He’s not really sure what tips him off, the manic look in Rick’s eye, or maybe how long he continues to rant, but once Morty recognizes it, it’s hard to miss.

When Rick finally comes to a stop, breathing a little heavily, Morty uncurls from his seat, reaches out, and pulls his grandfather in by the front of his shirt. There’s a tense second where they make eye contact, Rick’s mouth already curled up in a sneer, lips parted as he gets ready to tear into Morty or ask him what the fuck he thinks he’s doing. But then Morty closes the distance between them and kisses Rick straight on that filthy mouth of his. Emphasis on the filthy. He tastes like liquor and weed and vomit, and its infinitely more gross than the mouthwash Miami had tasted of. Yet Morty doesn’t mind, kind of likes how authentic and _real_ it is. This isn’t some duplicate or alternative. He’s not settling for a different version of his grandfather, but instead getting the exact version he’d slowly fallen for.

Rick makes this pained noise, like he’s dying, then his hands are suddenly on Morty’s face, his shoulders, his sides, grabbing at his shirt and tugging him forward. It’s an awkward scramble from the passenger seat into Rick’s lap, Rick fumbling with the seat to lean it back. The steering wheel still digs uncomfortably into Morty’s spine, but Rick’s tongue is in his mouth and doing _amazing_ things so he doesn’t really care.

“Little shit,” Rick mutters when they have to break for air, his breath hot and humid against Morty’s face. “Old men really get you h-hard then, huh?”

It takes everything in Morty not to roll his eyes. Honestly, he’s never considered jealousy to be one of Rick’s moral sins, but then it’s also not like Rick to leave any stone unturned.

“No,” Morty replies, settling his arms shyly around his grandfather’s neck. He’s not sure what to do with himself now that he’s in Rick’s lap but his lips find the corner of Rick’s mouth, then his cheek, trail down to his throat like he’s seen people kiss in movies and pornos. “I-It’s not about age. I w-wanted him because he’s _you,”_ he says softly, burying his face in the crook between Rick’s neck and shoulder. He smells strongly of weed and booze but also metal and electricity and musk.

So fast that Morty’s high brain can’t keep up with it, Rick flips them over so that he’s hovering over Morty. The car is cramped but there’s just enough room for his knees on the seat beside Morty’s thighs. “ _I fucking knew it_ ,” Rick hisses. “Y-you into your own granddad, Morty? Want to get fu-fucked by a wrinkly, old man? You’re disgusting.”

“Maybe,” Morty relents, suddenly breathless. He’s come to peace with what his attraction and interests say about him as a person. It’s hard to hate yourself for who or what makes you pop a boner when you’ve like, accidentally killed entire civilizations.

Winding his arms around Rick’s neck again, Morty tries to pull him back down for another kiss. But his grandfather resists, sitting up instead to rummage around in his lab coat pockets. “Pants. O-off,” he demands.

Morty scrambles to comply, bending and twisting awkwardly in the seat to try and get his jeans out of the way. They wind up tangled around one ankle, his shoe keeping them in place, his other foot bare and pressed against the dash board. Rick makes a small noise of disgust when he notices and grabs Morty’s leg, pulling it up so that his calf is against Rick’s shoulder. “Keep your-your nasty fucking feet off my dashboard, Morty. What, w-were you raised in a barn?”

“We’re literally about to- going to have sex in your car, Rick,” Morty points out, feeling brave despite his partial nudity, then yelps when Rick yanks him lower in the seat in retaliation. “H-hey!”

“Shut up, Morty,” his grandfather says. “A-and stay still. I don’t want to get lube everywhere.”

Sure enough, he’s got a bottle in one hand. It’s half empty and looks well used, creases on the plastic from being squeezed. How many people has he fucked in his car, just like this? In crappy motel rooms, in back alleys, in any of the homes or clubs Morty has stood waiting impatiently outside?

Before Morty can depress himself further, Rick is leaning in close again to kiss him. Morty gets lost in the rhythm of it, his fingers winding into Rick’s thinning hair. One of Rick’s hands is on Morty’s leg, just above his knee, holding it in it’s position over his shoulder. The other finds Morty’s dick, fingers slick with lube. Morty gasps and arches up into the hot, wet touch. He’d been semi-hard from before, had never really gone soft ever since Sweetheart had slid into his lap, but his dick fills the rest of the way with blood so quickly it makes him dizzy. Or maybe that’s just the combination of weed and arousal. Either way, Morty has to disengage from the kiss, his hands grasping at Rick’s shoulders to try and ground himself as he shakes and pants.

Rick makes a pleased humming noise, kissing at Morty’s ear then throat. “Mmm, th-that’s it. Relax.” He gives a couple of pumps to Morty’s dick, then trails his hands further down, tugging at Morty’s balls and rubbing small circles into his taint. Morty’s breath actually stops when the first finger slides in, easy as can be.

“Oh-ho,” Rick says, clearly amused, and pulls back a little so he can smirk down at Morty. “I-I see someone’s been busy. You fuck- you fuck yourself on your own fingers, baby?”

_Baby_. The word rocks through Morty harder than it ever had when Miami said it. Combined with Rick’s finger suddenly finding his prostate, he can’t help the way he throws his head back and whines. He manages a breathless, “M-maybe,” in response, but that’s all.

Rick, the asshole, just laughs softly at him. “You should let me watch sometime,” he murmurs, rubbing his thumb along Morty’s stretched rim, bidding him to relax some more. “B-bet you look real good, Morty. You cry out my name?”

“Yes,” Morty tries to admit, but a second finger breeches him and the end of the word is lost to a cry, his nails digging uselessly into Rick’s coat to try and ground himself. “O-oh!”

“Yeah? Feel-feel good, baby?”

Morty can’t even dignify that with a proper response because Rick drags against his prostate again, making him moan. It must be enough of an answer though because Rick curses lightly under his breath and speeds up his movements, being a little rough but Morty has never minded that. He has a hard time fingering himself, his fingers a little too short to reach his prostate by himself, but Rick’s are perfect.

Rick goes back to kissing and sucking at Morty’s neck while he works him open. It feels like he’s trying to outdo the mark that Sweetheart must have left on him. Later, when he has to try and hide the hickie or explain it away, Morty is sure he’ll be pissed. But for right now the duel sensations are working him up higher and higher, making his back arch and voice shake with pleasure. He ends up coming just like that, sputtering all over his stomach as he rides Rick’s fingers, stuttering, “G-g-grandpa!”

“Oh shit,” Rick curses, pulling away again so he can get a good look at Morty. “D-idn’t realize you could come just from being finger fucked. That’s hot- that’s so fucking hot, baby.”

Morty just whines because he’s quickly becoming oversensitive and Rick’s fingers are still jammed against his prostate. When Rick pulls them out, Morty collapses back against the seat with a sigh, his head lolling slightly.

“We’re not done yet,” Rick warns, pushing Morty’s lifted leg against his chest suddenly. “So-so don’t get too comfortable there, Morty.”

He hadn’t really thought they were so Morty just hums, hooking his arm around his leg to hold it in place for his grandfather. Rick is fumbling with his pants, surprisingly deft despite his fingers being slick with lube. He doesn’t bother taking them off, or even undoing them all the way, just fits his dick through the zipper hole and starts lubing up. Morty’s seen him soft of course, plenty of times. But Rick isn’t soft right now, and his size is making Morty’s mouth water. Long and thick and flushed red at the tip, covered in veins that almost visibly pulse with Rick’s heartbeat. No wonder everybody and their mother wants to fuck this man.

“You-you like what you see?”

Morty jerks his gaze away from Rick’s cock, up into his grandfather’s smirking face. He swallows hard, and despite his orgasm just moments before, his dick is already trying to twitch again. Thank fuck for teen libido. “Y-yeah.”

“Good,” Rick purrs, shuffling closer and widening his stance to try and get the angle right. “I’m- here, just breathe out, baby. Gonna hurt.”

Still a little oversensitive, Morty winces at the first press, but breathes out and bears down regardless. The head pops in almost audibly and he gasps, already feeling overly full.

“Shh,” Rick soothes, rubbing a circle into Morty’s stomach. The hand drifts lower, grasping his dick once more. It had wilted under the pain but comes alive easily enough underneath Rick’s talented, slightly gnarled fingers. Morty’s breath shudders in his chest and he leans up, seeking his grandfather’s lips for another kiss. Rick gives it to him, softer than before, more careful, the drag of his tongue along Morty’s lower lip making him quake and moan.

By the time Rick’s bottomed out, Morty is on the verge of tears. He feels _stuffed_ , his entire body aching around Rick’s girth but in the best way.

“M-move,” he begs softly.

Rick looms over him, not as shaken as Morty but still visibly affected with sweat on his brow. “Yeah?”

“Please.”

“You-you asked for it, kid.”

Up until now, Rick has been more gentle than Morty was expecting, touches firm but careful. As careful as Rick is capable of being, anyways. But his first thrust rocks Morty up the seat, his neck snapping back as a loud moan is surprised out of him.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Rick groans, his next thrust even rougher than the first. “F-feels good, baby. Gonna fuck you real good- real fuckin’ good.”

And he does. Extendedly. If asked, Morty would not have guessed that Rick has as much stamina as he does, simply because of his age and also his short attention span. But it feels like his grandfather fucks him for _hours_ , his thrusts greedy and and borderline selfish, hands rough and grasping, his teeth finding purchase all over Morty’s body. Morty is just along for the ride, overwhelmed by emotion and pleasure so strong he ends up crying midway through. It doesn’t stop either, tears streaking down his cheeks and sobs getting all caught up with moans in his chest. Rick just groans and fucks into him harder, licking tears up off of Morty’s cheek like they’re a delicacy.

“That’s it, b-baby. Cry for me, Morty, that’s so hot.”

Morty does, clinging to him for dear life and watching stars pass by the windshield over Rick’s shoulder.

By the time they both come they’re covered in sweat and panting, Morty practically delirious from how amazing he feels. He shoots all over his chest while Rick moans, guttural and low, and spills inside him. The intimacy of the act just prolongs Morty’s own orgasm. He kisses sloppily, uncoordinated at Rick’s mouth, mostly missing.

Rick allows it for a moment but then he pushes Morty away, groaning as he slowly pulls out. Morty winces at the feeling, soreness and deep ache already starting to seep in as steadily as the cum dripping out of him.

“Al-alright, outta my seat, Morty,” Rick says, pushing his hair back with one hand and tucking himself away with the other.

“Mmmm, can’t move,” Morty mumbles in response. His body is completely lax, and he feels seconds from slipping off to sleep.

Rick rolls his eyes. “You-you one of those assholes who passes out after he comes, Morty? Don’t be one of those guys. Get the fuck out of my seat. We’re about to hit Earth’s atmosphere.”

Those words are enough to get Morty moving, if only because he doesn’t want to land in their driveway while half naked and covered in jizz. Unfortunately, they never bothered to take his shirt off, only his pants, and the cum stains weren’t going to come out any time soon. Rick seemed to realize this too, and with a grumble tosses his lab coat over top of Morty. “Here, w-wear- cover up with this.”

Moving slowly and wincing, Morty maneuvers himself back into the passenger seat. Rick reclaims the driver seat with a grunt and a wince of his own. Probably from working his hips and bending over Morty the way he had.

They’re fairly quiet as they get closer to earth, Morty awkwardly pulling his pants back on, followed by the lab coat. The ship is starting to rock with the force of reentering the atmosphere when something occurs to Morty.

“H-hey, Rick?”

Rick glances over at him, looking a little too nonchalant as he snaps, “What?”

“Did…did you portal us to the car instead of home just- just so you could fuck me?”

Silence, too long to be anything except an answer in the affirmative. “What the fuck, Morty?” is Rick’s actual response, but Morty knows enough about his grandfather to read between the lines. He leans over the center console to kiss Rick on the cheek just as their home comes into view. 

**Author's Note:**

> come check me out on [tumblr](https://scribespirare.tumblr.com/). but also if i get any hate anons imma be very disappointed in yall.


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